How can this boy compare to that man? she’d thought simply, and then jumped to her feet.
She’d muttered something like sorry, gotta go, and if she had any doubts that this person was a boy and not a man, they were pushed aside right there. He swore at her, and then turned away as she left like a sulky child. She’d laughed about it afterward; at the time it had been terrifying. Since then, nobody had compared to that simple memory of Jon, that hot, penetrating memory. Nothing had compared to her dad’s best friend.
It didn’t matter that it was wrong, not to her body. Her body wanted him, and if given the opportunity it would have him at a moment’s notice.
She watched the door until the alcohol faded and she sobered up, expecting to hear a knock any moment.
But no knock came, not that night.
*****
Samantha woke the next morning with her breath coming fast. She looked down, and saw that her hand was under the covers, touching her pussy. The remnants of the dream clung to her. Jon had sneaked into the room, climbed into her bed, made love to her love and over. It had been a sweet dream, a glorious dream. And now she was awake and she couldn’t dream any longer. She rose from bed sad to leave it—sad to leave the remnants of Jon’s hands on her body. From the other room, she heard Dad and Jon talking about cases and terminology.
She changed into her bikini, and then threw a summer dress over it. In her beach bag she packed her suntan lotion and then left her hotel room to go downstairs for breakfast. She ate little. Her appetite wasn’t for food, after all. It was for him. After breakfast, she left the hotel room and walked for about a minute before she reached the beach. The beach was packed, even this early, but she managed to find a vacant deck chair on the opposite side from the hotel. She applied her suntan lotion before removing her dress, and then laid back and closed her eyes, relaxing in the sun. There was something soothing about the sunlight on her skin, the red glow on her closed eyelids.
She wasn’t aware how much time had passed until somebody cleared their throat beside her. She covered her eyes with her hand as she opened them, and then turned toward the man. He was dim, at first, hazy. But as her eyes adjusted to the light, she gasped in pleasure. Jon stood above her, looking down, completely shirtless. His muscles were, if anything, tighter and bigger than they had been two years ago. His skin was pale, like hers, and his chest had almost no hair on it: only a few near the center. His belly was a flat-rock six-pack, ridged, rippling.
She gazed at him openly until he laughed. “Are you done?” he said, with the cocky smile she remembered so well. “Get a good look, Samantha.” He had laid out a deck chair beside hers whilst her eyes were closed. “I hope you don’t mind.” But he sat before she could say anything. “Mike’s back at the hotel. You need to have a talk with him. He’s a real workaholic.”
“Yeah, I know,” Samantha said, her words sounding far away. All she could focus on was his muscular body, the way his muscles tensed as he lowered himself into the deck chair. She saw that other women, too, had noticed his muscles. A group of middle-aged women giggled loudly when they passed, and looked at him with seductive eyes. Samantha felt unaccountably angry. She had no claim on him. It shouldn’t have bothered her. Even so, she was glad when one of the women stabbed her two. That’ll teach you to look where you’re going, she thought, as the woman squealed melodramatically.
“You’ve got a fan club,” Samantha commented, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“It certainly seems that way,” he replied, but he didn’t look at them once. His pale blue eyes moved over her body, from her small, pert breasts, down to her legs and her belly. They moved back up – he didn’t try and hide the fact he was checking her out – to her face. “Well, you’re fucking smoking today.”
Samantha laughed. The laughed came suddenly and unexpectedly. And then it was followed instantly by a blush. He had crossed a line. Both of them knew that. And neither of them cared. Most of all, she felt a warm tingle move over her body that was not sunlight (though the sun burnt down as angrily as ever); it was an unexpected pride at being complimented by the man who she had fantasized over for two years. “I don’t know what to say to that,” she said honestly. “I never expected—”
“We don’t have to play games, Samantha,” he said, smiling that cocky smile. On any other man, that smile would’ve sickened her. But he wore it differently to other men. He was completely self-assured, completely comfortable in his own skin. He stretched his arms – knowing, Samantha was sure, exactly what he was doing – and Samantha’s eyes were drawn to his muscles, tensing, tight.
For the thousandth time she imagined what it would be like to move her hands over those muscles.
She felt the words coming long before she spoke them. She felt them in her throat. She tried to fight them to push them away, but they were persistent. She didn’t want to seem too keen, too eager, too desperate, but words needed to be spoken. “Why didn’t you knock?” she breathed, the words coming out in a rush. “We have adjoining rooms . . . Why didn’t you knock?”
He tilted his head at her, as though her words surprised him, and then shrugged. When he shrugged, his shoulder muscles contracted. A hundred shivers ran through her. He smiled, but it was less certain than before. It was the smile of a man who has just realized he missed a golden opportunity. “I didn’t realize you’d want me to,” he said plainly. “You seemed pretty shaken when Mike came down. I knew you wanted something—”
“Oh, did you now?” Samantha giggled. This was the most fun she’d had with a man in years, she realized, this simple back-and-forth. “And what gave you that idea?”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “It was plain just by looking at your face.”
“Hmm, maybe,” Samantha replied. Maybe? Ha, yeah right! Just like maybe the sun will set this evening! He’s right, you know he is. You want this.
“Maybe? Okay, missy, if you want to play that game. You know,” and he locked his eyes on hers, “you’re not too old for a spanking.”
Samantha swallowed, nerves and excitement making a potent mix in her chest. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, but her voice was weak. They both knew she didn’t mean it. They both knew that she wanted him to say things like that.
“Why not?” he asked casually. “So, you wanted me to knock? Listen out tonight, Samantha.”
With that he laid his head on the deck chair and closed his eyes. Samantha studied him for a little longer, moving down his muscular torso to his muscular legs, and then lingering on his beach shorts. How many times had she imagined what was under there? How many times had she dreamed of what was under there?
She lay back, closing her eyes and letting the sunlight leave its crimson glow on her eyelids. She heard women whisper to each other as they passed, whispering about how hot Jon was, with his muscles, his beard, his everything. But it didn’t bother Samantha as much as it had before. Because they’re not going to have him, are they? I am! They can look all they want, whisper all they want, but I’m going to get him. Tonight . . . tonight!
She had wondered how she would feel when she lost her virginity. Of course, she had wanted it to be the hot older man she’d seen in the locker room two years ago. But for it to actually happen . . .
All she could think was: Damn.
In about half an hour, Dad joined them, and the rest of the conversations that day were so typical that Samantha almost instantly forgot them. It was agonizing to pretend that everything was normal and boring, that she wasn’t alive to the possibility of fucking the man of her dreams tonight, when he was lying right there.
But Dad couldn’t know. If he did, he would stop it. He would say she didn’t know what she was doing. He would say that Jon was too old. But he would be wrong. She knew exactly what she was doing. And if that boy at that house party two years ago had told her anything, it was that boys her own age weren’t anything to get super excited about.
Damn, she thought. Tonight.
*****
The last time she had been this excited for bedtime was when she was a girl and it was Christmas Eve. She would sleep, and wake to presents! This, she thought, wasn’t that different, except that she wouldn’t sleep. But there would definitely be presents tonight. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, watching the moonlight creep across the room. It was difficult to sleep in Malta, anyway. Even in the night, the heat was thick. She lay in her panties, braless, on top of her covers, waiting, waiting . . .
She almost thought he wouldn’t come. Maybe he had been playing a cruel trick on her. Maybe this was a joke to him. Maybe he didn’t like her nearly as much as he had indicated. Maybe (and this was the most painful maybe) one of the women at the beach had seduced him, and he was in her hotel room right now. She waited, and waited, and felt as though hours must have passed. But when she looked at the clock that rested on her bedside table she saw that it had only been half an hour.
She sighed, and rolled over. Finally – finally! – a quiet knock sounded at the door that connected her room to Jon’s. She got up and was halfway to the door when she remembered she was only wearing her panties. She thought about getting dressed, but the thought of standing before him naked was too hot to fight. Fuck it, she thought, and walked the rest of the way to the door. The handle was sticky on her hand, and the creak it made seemed very loud in the night.
She yanked the door open, afraid she would lose her nerve if she opened it slowly.
Jon’s jaw literally dropped when he saw her. For a moment he looked like a cartoon character. He walked into the room, lit by moonlight, staring at her breasts, and then down her body at her bare legs. “Fuck,” he whispered.
“Does that mean you like it?” she laughed.
He didn’t have to answer her question. He was wearing baggy shorts, and when he saw her, his cock hardened and lifted the fabric of the shorts. “Fuck,” he repeated.
I have to tell him, she thought. He has to know. He has to know! She swallowed, and walked back to the bed, her pussy aching and wet as he watched her. She turned back, and looked up into his dimly-lit face. She took a deep breath, and then forced it out. “I’m a virgin,” she said. “I just—maybe I should have told you before—I don’t know—ah—”
He laid his hands on her shoulders. “If you want this, Samantha, I don’t care if you’re a virgin. Do you want it?”
Did she want it! She supposed he had no way of knowing how silly that question sounded to her. He hadn’t been there, night after night, when she’d touched herself whilst imagining exactly this scenario. He didn’t know how many times she’d dreamt of being naked in front of him. She looked up at him, feeling braver and more sexual than she’d ever felt in her life. “I want it,” she said. “I really want it. I just thought I’d tell you.”
“Okay,” he said.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a condom, and set in on the bedside table. He returned to her, looming over her, his body oppressive but not at all in a bad way. She discovered that she wanted to be oppressed by this powerful man, not really – not forever – but in this moment, in this environment, hell yes. He reached down and cupped her breast, and then moved his fingers and gently twisted her nipples. Her nipples became hard at his touch, and send electric reverberations around her body, everywhere, but mostly to her pussy.
Without thinking – the time for thinking was done – she reached down and grabbed his cock. It was big, just as she had imagined, and as hard as steel. She gripped it with her hand, and he moaned softly. He moved his hand from her breast down to her underwear, which was wet through. When he pressed his finger down on her clit, she keeled over with the shock of it. She had never experienced pleasure like that. It seemed to captivate her body. She imagined the electric bolts from her breast meeting in her belly somewhere with the electric bolts from her pussy, filling her whole body with an otherworldly energy.
She rubbed her clit side to side, hard, fast, and she bent over further as the pleasure coursed through her. She closed her eyes when she came, and for a moment thought she was back on the beach, a warm light glowing onto her eyelids. Her moans were louder, but she didn’t care. She only cared about the heat between her legs. When she opened her eyes, panting from the orgasm, she saw that Jon had kicked his shorts off.
She looked down at his cock, at the hugeness of it, and for a moment was terrified that she wouldn’t be able to take it. But that terror only lasted a few moments, and then she was overcome with lust. Two years’ worth of lust poured out of her in that moment. She grabbed it again, and then looked the older, muscular, hot-as-the-dogs-of-hell man in the eyes. “I want this inside of me,” she said. “I want it inside of me now.”
He pushed her onto the bed, pulled her underwear down, and then reached across to the bedside table, where the condom lay.
Samantha bit her lip so hard it hurt for days afterward when he thrust his huge cock into her.
*****
When Samantha woke, she thought she might be dreaming. She looked at the man beside her, and struggled to believe that he was actually there. If it wasn’t for the aches in her body, and the comfortable, satisfied ache in her pussy, she would truly believe she was dreaming. She stretched her arms and rose from bed, walking across to the window. She drew the curtains, and the room was instantly filled with sunlight. She was so content – so in her own world – that she only heard the knocking when Jon stirred from bed.
“Shit,” he whispered.
“What?” Samantha asked, answering him in a whisper.
“Jon!” It was Dad’s voice—and the knocking, she realize, was coming from Jon’s door. “You lazy bastard!” Dad laughed. “Are you planning on getting up today or not?”
Jon quickly whisked up his shorts and ran for the door that connected the two rooms. Samantha’s heart beat in her mouth. She wrung her hands, and willed him to move faster. She saw Dad smash down the door, charge into the room, swearing madly. Of course, that wouldn’t happen. She knew that. And yet that knowledge didn’t stop the images from pouring into her mind. She saw Dad fighting Jon – his oldest, best friend – because of what they had done. Simultaneously – madly – she did not want Jon to leave. She wanted to fall back into bed with him, to make love to him again.
He was at the door when he turned and paced across the room. He kissed Samantha on the lips. “Sorry I have to leave like this,” he said, as he turned away from her.
She said nothing. There was nothing to say. She just watched as he left the room, closed the door. She walked across the room and laid her ear against the wall. “Sorry, Mike,” she heard Jon say, as his door opened. “I was completely out of it.”
“Get dressed,” Dad said. “We have work to do.”
There they were, just two old friends, nothing strange about it at all. Dad had no clue that the man he was this moment talking to had fucked his daughter last night. He had no clue that his daughter would fuck him again this moment if circumstances would allow for it. She listened until she heard the door close, and then footsteps recede down the hallway, and then returned to bed.
Her body was aching, and her mind was spinning overtime.
He had only brought one condom. Why – how – had he thought one was enough? They had fucked once. It had started slow, and then something had awoken in her, and she regretted deeply not finding Jon sooner and fucking him as soon as she laid eyes on his muscles. She had come three times, and then he had finished. But no sooner had they finished than Samantha wanted more. She wanted more, more, and she had coaxed him, rubbed him, sucked him, and they had fucked again, without a condom. And, damn, it had felt amazing without a condom, even better than with one. They had done it three times that night, twice without protection.
She should have panicked, should have rushed to the nearest clinic, but she didn’t. Instead, she closed her eyes and lost herself in the memory of last night. Her material for nighttime fantasies had just multiplied massively. She wasn�
��t a virgin anymore. When she thought about it like that, she smiled. But it wasn’t the simple fact that she’d lost her virginity. She could have done that two years ago, at that awful house party. No, it was because she had lost her virginity with him, with the man of her dreams, with the man she had hoped to lose it with for two years.
Time seemed to pass quickly that day. She was aware that she went downstairs for a late breakfast, that she spent the day by the pool reading, that she went inside and had an afternoon nap, and that she, Dad, and Jon ate dinner together. She was aware of all of this, but only as background noise. The main part of her mind was taken up with what had happened in the night, what she and Jon had done, the pleasure she had experienced.
“Is something wrong, Sammy?” Dad asked, when they’d ordered desert.
She looked up, as though startled, and then laughed. Nothing’s wrong, Dad. Actually, everything is right. Everything is more than right. Oh, if only you knew how right everything is right now. “Not at all,” Samantha said, glad that she didn’t have to lie. “I’m happier than I’ve been in years.”
Dad nodded at that and then turned to collect his desert from the waitress. Jon took the opportunity to offer her a secret smile, just for her, and to raise his eyebrow. The meaning, once again, was clear. Tonight?Samantha looked quickly to Dad, and seeing that he was still collecting the desert, made a small nod. Hell, yes, that nod said.
She felt bad for deceiving Dad, sure, but there was also an excitement in it. Having him sit right there, and yet have no clue what the other two people at the table were planning, added a new dimension to it that she was surprised to find she enjoyed. It made her feel naughty, as though they were doing something wrong. And that thrilled her. It made her horny just thinking about it, just thinking that Jon would come to her room in the dead of night, when nobody would see them, and fuck her harder than she would ever be fucked in her life; she was sure nobody could match Jon.
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